


This is How a Heart Breaks

by Jeni27



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: BAMF Molly Hooper, F/M, I like it though, Molly Hooper's brother (mentioned), Molly Hooper's father (mentioned) - Freeform, Post TFP, Slow Burn, possibly canon divergent, probably not canon, sherlock/molly - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-23
Updated: 2017-02-17
Packaged: 2018-09-19 09:55:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9434903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jeni27/pseuds/Jeni27
Summary: One phone call turned Molly Hooper's life upside down, while another phone call shattered her heart into pieces.  Now Molly must navigate the emotional waters of losing a brother, gaining his children, and dealing with a Sherlock Holmes who has only just realized that he is in love with her.  If everyone else leans on Molly for support, who does she have to lean on in her worst moments?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Mucho love and thanks to @lilsherlockian1975 for all of her help making this so much more than what it was to begin with!
> 
> Just a sidenote: I'm pretty sure we all know that I own nothing. (Including Rob Thomas' voice. *le sad sigh*)

** This is How a Heart Breaks **

 

_“Life is like a mean machine / It made a mess out of me  
And let me come between / Like an anchor dream, I was stranded”_

_~Rob Thomas_  

            Molly Hooper was having one hell of a shitty morning.  Or night, or – oh hell.  Let’s face it, she had been having one hell of a shitty past few months.  First there was the death of one of her closest friends.  Then Sherlock went crazy with the drugs _.  (‘I promise, Molly.  It’s just for this one case, and then I’ll be off them.  I won’t lose it, and I’ll let you know about everything that’s going on.  You can even monitor me, if you like.’)_

 

            And of course she agreed to go along with it.  Of course she did.  Whether it was because he was lying on her couch with his head in her lap and her fingers carding through his hair (a personal fantasy come true for her) or if it was the fact that he had opened his eyes and looked at her so very earnestly and entreatingly, she was not sure.  But she knew that she would do it, because she was a fool for Sherlock Holmes and her heart wouldn’t let her do anything else.

 

            Yeah.  That had worked out so well.  Okay.  Well.  She would give him a little credit.  He had gotten John to forgive him, so there was that. 

 

            After that lovely debacle, things had started to calm down a little bit.  Sherlock spent even more time with her in her flat doing some of the most mundane things.  She would never tell him how positively domestic it all felt.  He seemed to enjoy being with her, and she loved him, so she would take what she could get. 

 

            It never once occurred to her that Sherlock Holmes would want her sexually though. 

 

            Molly had just finished a gut-wrenching autopsy on a young girl that was no more than thirteen.  She had been bought and sold in a sex ring and had been caught trying to escape her keeper.  Greg had said that the girl had made it to the middle of the large yard before anyone had noticed she was missing.  However, the girl had tripped the security lights flooding the yard and the house with a brightness that rivaled the sun, alerting her keeper of her escape.  He grabbed his gun and took off after her.  He was trigger happy and drunk, and his aim was more true than he liked.  The girl didn’t stand a chance.

 

            What made the autopsy even worse for Molly, was seeing the small fetus within the child’s womb.  It was only because there was an intern working with her that she held it together.  (She needed to remain professional in front of her students and interns.)

 

            Sherlock had breezed in earlier that day, (for the first time that Molly had seen him in over a week) deduced everything that he could about the girl, and then told Lestrade where to find the girl’s keeper.  He shot Molly a secret smile that she completely missed in her emotional turmoil, and breezed right back out the door.  Molly hadn’t seen him since.  She counted that as a good thing, since she wasn’t sure that she would be able to handle his emotional stiltedness toward the situation. 

 

            She chided herself for being unfair.  He had been putting out some effort to understand emotions.  That did not mean however, that she was willing to put up with him on this particular night.  All she really wanted was to get home, take a nice soak in a bubble bath, put on some comfy pajamas, and curl up in front of the telly with wine, cheese, and chocolate. 

 

            It was a lovely plan, and she could almost forget the horrendous autopsy that she had just done. 

 

            And then she walked into her house only to find Sherlock sprawled out on her couch in what she had dubbed his ‘mind palace pose’.  He wore his jewel toned royal blue shirt with his shirt sleeves rolled up.  _(‘No man should ever look that hot.  It just wasn’t fair to her poor nerves.’)_   His shoes were lined up neatly by the door, his Belstaff coat was hanging on the hook on the wall, and his suit jacket had been flung across the back of the couch.

 

            There was a bag of take away on the counter that separated the sitting room from the kitchen.  (Take away that she had no intention of eating, no matter how well-meaning Sherlock was trying to be.)

 

            The whole set-up was a bit too much for her to take in at that moment, and she groaned softly.  Huffing out a sigh, she threw her keys on the hall table and dropped her bag on the floor next to it.  She slid out of her shoes, left them next to Sherlock’s, glanced at him once more, and went to her bathroom to start her water.

 

            If he wasn’t going to acknowledge her presence, all the better for her. 

 

            Thoughts swirled in her mind as she undressed and got into the tub.  They just wouldn’t stop.  All she could do was envision that poor girl and the horrors that she must have gone through.  The whole thing hit a little too close to home for her and she finally let the tears free.  (She had lost a friend to child trafficking years ago, and she always gave to charities that helped those children and broke down those rings.)

 

            She spent the better part of an hour in the tub, refilling the water whenever it started to get cold, before she felt that she was calm enough and clean enough to get out and have to face the consulting detective.

 

            Stepping over the edge of the tub, she wrapped herself in her favorite silk dressing gown (one of her few clothing indulgences) and went into her bedroom.  Only to find that Sherlock had moved into her bedroom and was now watching her intently as she walked in. 

 

            A part of her wanted to be embarrassed.  She had never been as underdressed in front of him as she was at that very moment.  However, there was a much bigger part of her that was thoroughly exasperated with his mere presence.  It was this part that made her decided that she just didn’t care.

 

            She shot a glare at him as she went to her dresser to get out her underwear and clothes.  Deciding as she went that she would have to go back into the bathroom to get changed.

 

            “Molly,” Sherlock said quietly. 

 

            She huffed and continued to ignore him.  She wasn’t counting on him sitting up and grabbing the edge of her dressing gown as she passed by.  He pulled her toward him and forced her to sit on his lap. 

 

            It was all rather shocking to the shy pathologist who had pushed all her Sherlock fantasies out of her mind to the best of her abilities.  Apparently, Sherlock wasn’t completely done surprising her because the next thing that she knew he was whispering in her ear, “Let me help you forget for just a little while.” 

 

            And then he was kissing her lips, and it was bliss.  He was touching her and making her body come alive.  It felt like a fantasy, like dream.  Only, it wasn’t.  He was above her and around her and inside of her and she was in a place that was beyond heaven.  In those moments, there was no room for doubt, no room for fear, no room for questions; there was only room for them.  Their bodies, their tongues, their heat.  It was only as she was coming down from the euphoria that she began to wonder what all of this was about.  Before she could give it too much thought, he had rolled off of her, pulled her to his chest, and told her to stop thinking so much. 

 

            She drifted off to sleep surrounded by the scent of her lover.    

 

            She woke up alone.

 

 

 ~SH&MH~

 

_“And I'm steady though I'm starting to shake / And I don't know how much more I can take”_

 

            The call had come at about 4:30 that morning, and she had answered it without checking the Caller ID.  She supposed it was a type of habit since the only person that ever called her in the middle of the night was Sherlock.  So, it came as a slight surprise when it was an American voice that greeted her on the other end of the line.  Besides, wasn’t Sherlock right next to her…?  She rolled over only to realize that no, Sherlock was not there at all.

 

            Really though, she should have seen this coming.  She could probably even put money on him not being anywhere inside of her house.  Hell, he was probably on the other side of London by now.  She pushed those thoughts aside and focused on what the American was telling her.

 

            Her estranged older brother, it seemed, had gone and gotten himself killed and left behind his two children.  Their mother was missing, or dead – nobody really knew, but she hadn’t been in the picture for quite a while, and Molly was the only other familial contact that they had.  (She hadn’t even known of their existence until now.) 

 

            Molly felt herself going into shock.  Her brother had left for the states shortly after he turned 17.  Molly was only 13 at the time.  She quite clearly remembered the row between her father and brother.  (It was not an argument that she was likely to ever forget.)  After he left, Molly had tried to reach out to him and bridge the gaping hole that had been left behind, but he was always unwilling to do so, and eventually she had just quit trying. 

 

            She was caught unaware that her brother even had her listed as a contact for his children.  She supposed that he had probably saved her number to his phone after she left a message for him with the news of their father’s death.  (And even after that tragic affair, he still had not contacted her.)  Now the children had no place to go, and if Molly did not come and claim guardianship over them, they would become wards of the state of Texas. 

 

            Lovely.

 

            She wasn’t even surprised that something like this had happened.  It was just how her life seemed to be going.  She got up from bed, only sparing a glance at the place she knew Sherlock had rested the night before, and went to start her day. 

 

            She looked into flights first, choosing one that was leaving out at 21:30 that night.  Then she called Mike Stamford and let him know that she was going to need some personal days.  She didn’t go into detail, but since she never took any time off, Mike was all too happy to give it to her.

 

            As she was cleaning her house and booking a kitty hotel room for Toby, she considered calling Sherlock to let him know that she would be out of town for a while.  She waffled over it for about three seconds and then completely discarded the idea.  After what happened last night, she didn’t know where they stood in their relationship, or what his thoughts actually were. More than anything though, she was certain that she did not want to come across as needy.

 

            God, but she wished she could have his strong arms around her right now.  She took a shuddering breath and let it out slowly.  She had to pull herself together.  No one was going to hold her up, and she needed to be strong for her brother’s children.  She figured it was better to start getting herself under control now instead of waiting until she got to Texas.

 

By the time she had managed to get her suitcase packed with all her necessary items, the sun had made it to the mid-point of the sky and her stomach was protesting loudly.  It was at that moment that she realized that she had not eaten anything in the past 24 hours. 

 

            She knew that had it been anybody else *cough a certain consulting detective cough*, she would be giving him the fifth degree.  Molly rolled her eyes at herself and went to make some tea.  As she waited for her tea to steep, she stared at the little crystal sun catcher that hung above her sink.  Her brother had got it for her when he was 17, just before he left them for good.  She was pretty sure that he knew at that point what was going to happen.  The night before the big fallout, Molly woke to him sitting beside her bed.  He held it out to her and she took it gingerly from him.

 

_“What’s this for, then?”  She asked quietly._

 

 _He smiled at her, though it was more of a grimace than anything.  He didn’t answer her question directly though.  He only said, “Hang it in a window and the sun will make beautiful colors all over the walls for you.  It will be just as bright and cheerful as you.”_   _Then he hugged her and wished her goodnight.  The next day he got into an argument with their father and he was gone._

 

            When she came out of her thoughts, she was leaning over the sink holding the back of her neck.  There were no tears in her eyes, but oh, how she wished the turmoil would just stop. 

 

            She thought again of Sherlock’s strong arms pulling her into a loving embrace.  Right at that moment, despite all of the complications that their relationship was riddled with, she would have given anything to have him to lean on.  To feel as if he truly cared for her.  To simply be loved by him.  She ruthlessly pushed those thoughts out again; utterly foolish notions that she could _not_ deal with on top of everything else.

 

            Then her phone rang, and she just _knew_ it was him.  Molly glanced at where it lay on the counter, debating.  She turned away from the sink and started to make her tea. 

 

_‘Think of the devil…’_

 

            Her phone went silent and she was grateful for all of two seconds, until it started ringing again.  Sighing, she answered it.  He would just keep calling anyway. 

 

            She had expected his call to be something mundane in the grand scheme of Sherlockian things.  Some body parts because he was bored, some help on a case that John couldn’t attend to with him, or even some help in the lab. 

 

            She was _not_ expecting him to crush her already crumbling heart.


	2. This Isn't the End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow. You guys are wonderful! I'm so glad you are all enjoying this!   
> A huge THANK YOU to lilsherlockian1975 for being an amazing beta and also to MrsMCrieff for Brit-picking! You guys are amazing!

** This is How a Heart Breaks **

 

** Chapter 2 **

 

_“Her dad was a good guy that everyone liked / But nobody knew he was dying inside_

_He promised his family they’d be alright / And then with a gunshot he left them behind”_

 

 

_“Scared. Little. Girl.”_

 

     That’s what the madman had called her as she scooted away from the corpse of her dead father.  His blank eyes staring up at her, accusing her.  She was sure that she would never get that image out of her mind.  Her only relief was that her baby brother was away at a friend’s house, and not here caught up in this mess.  All she needed to do was manage her own escape.  All she needed to do was get to a safe place and call the aunt she wasn’t supposed to know about.  All she needed to do was get her brother and get out of Texas, the U.S., the entire continent.  _‘Maybe we’d be safer on the moon.’_

 

     She wasn’t sure how she managed it, he was much bigger than her, and clearly more trained than she was in the art of fighting.  But she was small and scrappy, and if there was one thing that she had that the attacker did not, it was the determination to survive.

 

     She pushed herself up against the wall.  Her left leg at an odd angle.  She was certain it was broken.  He came at her with his hands spread, ready to strangle her.  She pulled the dagger from her boot and stabbed him in his chest.  He stumbled back, eyes wide and confused.

 

     “You…”

 

     She didn’t wait for whatever he was going to say.  She stood up painfully, lurched forward, pushed him down, and took off as fast as she could.  His fingers grazed her leg as she jumped over him, but there was no true grip.

 

     Huh.  She must have got some real damage in.  

 

     She pushed out the front door and fled down the hall to the stairwell.  No time to take the elevator now. 

 

_(She had a new understanding of the ‘hounds of hell being on one’s heels.’)_

 

_“Scared.  Little.  Girl.”_

 

     Those three little words taunted her as she ran, her leg twinging with every step.  If she could just get to her dad’s car, she could get her brother, call her aunt, and get to safety.

 

     She didn’t care that her father had made it more than explicitly clear not to contact the woman on the other side of the ocean.  He was gone and she had nobody else to turn to.  Besides, why shouldn’t she get a hold of the person that held the family fortune and could afford to take on two children.  (Her father obviously couldn’t, not without turning to less than legal dealings anyway.)

 

_“Scared.  Little.  Girl.”_

     His mocking voice circled around in her mind as she pushed out the front doors of the apartment building.  Nobody was outside, and the air was too quiet.  It was all so ominous.

 

     The man was right. 

 

     She was – _is_ -  terrified.

 

     Her dad’s car was sitting at the front of the parking lot.  It was as close as it could be to the building without being illegally parked.  He had always made sure to be as upstanding as a citizen as he could be.  He didn’t want the authorities to catch on to him because of something so mundane as a parking ticket. 

 

     She stayed close to the building for a moment longer, double-checking that there really wasn’t anyone around.  Once she was absolutely certain, only then did she walk _(limp)_ over to it.  Her backpack and purse sat on the floorboard of the passenger seat where she had left them that afternoon.

 

     Getting into the driver’s seat, she pulled the spare set of keys from her bag, grabbed her phone, sent a quick text to the mother of her brother’s friend, and took off down the road.  She had never been more glad that her father had insisted on getting her a fake ID.

 

 

**~SH &MH~**

_“You take a hit now_ _/ You feel it break down  
Make you stay while I wait / This is how a heart breaks”_

Molly was exhausted.  The 13-hour flight she had booked had turned into a 20-hour flight because of an unexpected hold-over.  The screaming child behind her had insisted on kicking her chair.  (The parents paid little heed to the poor thing, and as much as she wanted to do something to try and ease him, she was certain the parents would be obnoxious about it and not allow her to help in any way.  The proof lay in how they treated the stewardess and anyone else that had addressed the issue.)  Eventually the child got distracted with a movie and drifted off to sleep.  When the plane finally landed, she found that her luggage wasn’t even there, and it probably wouldn’t get there until the next day.

 

     She did not have available networking service for her phone during the holdover, so she wasn’t able to call ahead and let the car rental company know that she was going to be late picking it up.  By the time she got to the rental shop, the nice little sedan that had an automatic engine was gone.  The only vehicle available was a pick-up truck with a manual transmission, and while she did learn how to drive such a vehicle, it had been years since she had done so.  The only positive thing it had going for it, was that it had backseats, albeit small, they were at least there.  

 

     ( _The whole experience was on par with how her life was going.)_

     She threw her bags into the back of the truck, put the keys in the ignition, and sighed deeply as she put her head on the steering wheel.

 

     “This will get better.  This will.  I am determined,” she said it as if it were a mantra she were clinging to.  Then she remembered that she had not turned on her phone since she had arrived to the Houston airport.

 

     “Crap!” She fumbled for her phone, dropping it as she pulled it from her carry-on bag.  She turned it on to find 30 text messages and 80 missed calls from John, Mrs. Hudson, and even Mycroft.  Sherlock was conspicuously missing.  Not that she expected anything else, especially after his last phone call. 

 

     Her breath hitched.

 

_‘No.  I will not think about it!’_

She threw the phone on the seat next to her, programmed the address into the GPS and made her way out to Beltway 8.  90 minutes later, she was pulling up to a beachfront house.  It was a garish purple and… _’is that on stilts?’_ Apparently it was.  From where she sat in the truck, she could see some of the boards in the porch falling apart.  The paint was peeling away from the house, and there was a hole in one of the screens in the window.  She thought she saw a shadow move one of the dirty curtains, but she couldn’t be sure.

 

     The place was dark and somewhat ominous in the light of the fading sun, and other than her earlier perception, there wasn’t any sign of movement from within.  No cars were parked outside, and she wasn’t even sure if she had the right place.

 

     She double-checked the address and the GPS, sighed at the inevitability, and got out of the truck.  The stairs were even more rickety when on them, and she hoped she wouldn’t fall through them.  She heaved a sigh of relief for making it across such a weak porch and rang the doorbell.  As she waited she noticed some toys scattered around the lawn and wondered if they were from a previous owner. 

 

     There was no answer, so for good measure, Molly knocked.  She waited another minute, rocking back and forth on her heels and then tried the doorknob. 

 

     Unlocked.  That was never a good sign.

 

     The door opened on rusty hinges, the squeaking noise making the hairs on the back of her neck stand up.  The inside of the house didn’t look much better than the outside.  Dust motes danced in the air as she made her way into the surprisingly open foyer.  Wallpaper peeled off the walls.  A table sat lopsided next to a door on the right, its leg lying next to it.  A small lamp sat on the floor nearby.

 

     A pair of eyes peeked around the corner of the door and stared at her as she walked through the hall. 

 

     “Hello?  Is anyone here?”  Her voice was quiet and not as steady as she would have liked, and she took in a deep breath to steady her nerves.  ‘This is, without a doubt, exactly how Belle felt when she went in search of her father.’ 

 

     She didn’t see the small boy come out from the door as she passed by and continued down the hall.  He followed her as she made her way into what she was certain was at one point in time a stunning sitting room.  A huge glass window with French doors spanned the entirety of the wall.  It faced the ocean and allowed for an open feeling in the room.  Natural light flooded the room and cast the different colors of the sunset throughout it.

 

     The wall paper was peeling from the walls in here as well, and the carpet was shredded in some areas.  There was a couch sitting against one of the walls.  It was shabby and worn, but that wasn’t what truly caught the pathologist’s attention.

 

     It was the girl on the couch that did.

 

     She had long blonde hair that was tangled in knots around her shoulders.  Her already pale skin was flushed, and Molly realized that the girl was shivering.  She wore a pair of loose fitting shorts and a long-sleeved t-shirt, and her left leg was clearly broken. 

 

     “Oh god,” Molly’s hand went to her mouth, and she ran to the girl on the couch.  She laid the back of her hand on the poor girl’s forehead, and checked her pulse with her other hand. 

 

     A hiccup from behind her told her that she was not alone, and she turned around slowly, coming face to face with a boy no more than four years old and the spitting image of her older brother.  She grimaced at the sad reminder.

 

     The boy’s dark eyes were huge in his little round face, and he was quiet when he asked, “Is Lee-Lee gon’ be okay?  Is she gon’ die?”  Molly could tell that the child was trying to hold back tears.

 

     A groan from behind them had Molly spinning back around.  The girl, who Molly was assuming was ‘Lee-Lee’ was reaching out to the boy.  Her whispery voice cracked as she tried to console him.  “I’m going to be fine, Drew.  I promise.  Aunt Molly is going to take care of us now.” 

 

     She looked directly at Molly, her fever bright eyes begging.

 

     “Aunt Molly?”  Molly couldn’t help but parrot.

 

     The girl weakly motioned to herself in answer.  “I’m Aensleigh.  That’s Andrew.  You can call us Leigh and Drew.  That’s what our dad always called us.  And you’re our Aunt Molly.  We’re not supposed to know about you, but Dad was terrible at keeping secrets and I came across your name and number in one of his journals once.  When Dad found out, he was livid.  He made me swear that I would never get into contact with you.”

 

     Aensleigh shook her head sadly.  “I don’t know why he felt that way.”  She ran out of steam after that and adjusted her position, never taking her eyes off Molly.

 

     Drew whimpered and moved closer to his sister, but didn’t touch her.  Molly was impressed with how he held himself away in an effort to not cause his sister any more pain. 

 

     “Right, then.”  Molly squared up her shoulders and went back to examining her new-found niece.  What she found was not good.  The leg was indeed broken.  So too were a couple of ribs.  She had contusions on her arms, and her nose was bent as if it had been improperly popped back into place.

 

     “We need to get you to a hospital,” and she wondered why the girl  hadn’t gone in the first place.

 

     “No.  No hospitals.  I have to take care of Drew!  Besides they’ll be looking for me there.”  Molly could tell from the twitching of Aesleigh’s good leg that she was getting agitated.

 

     She sucked in a breath.  That was definite fear she heard in her niece’s voice.  “Wh-“ she cleared her throat, “Who will be looking for you?”

 

     The teenager grabbed Molly’s arm.  Her grip was much stronger than Molly would have thought possible.  “The men who killed our dad!  They’re looking for us now.  It’s just luck that they don’t know about this place!  Please!  You have to get us out of here!”

 

     Her voice trailed off again, and Molly feared that she was going to pass out from the pain.  “I can’t drive you all the way to IAH with that leg the way it is, Leigh.  It’s no good, and completely unsafe.”  But even as she said it, an idea was forming in her mind.  One that she knew would work.  It was just a matter of letting go of some of her pride.  She just hoped that the other woman would keep quiet about everything.

 

     Leigh was looking at her now.  Trepidation all over her features.  She was terrified of whoever it was that had killed her father.  (And that was something that Molly would deal with later. There would be some definite justice for her brother.)  But first, she needed to call in a long-overdue favor. 

 

     She took comfort in the fact that she wouldn’t have to talk to either of the brothers.

 

     She didn’t know when it had happened, but at some point, Leigh had grabbed her hand.  Molly gave it a comforting squeeze before letting go.  “Give me a moment.  Let me see what I can do.”

 

     Standing up, she patted Andrew on his head, took her phone out of her pocket, and stepped out of the room.  She opened her contact list and pushed the one phone number that she had never used before.  The other line only rang once before someone answered.

 

     “Hello, Anthea?  I need your help…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The two songs referenced here are "This Isn't the End" by Owl City and "This is How a Heart Breaks" by Rob Thomas
> 
> Reviews and Kudos are love!


	3. Just a Bit Worried and Maybe a Tad Bit Anxious

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A great big thanks to lilsherlockian1975 for her amazing beta help!

** This is How a Heart Breaks **

 

** Chapter 3 **

**  Just a Bit Worried and Maybe a Tad Anxious **

_“When she was warm and tender / And you pulled her arms around you / There was nothing but her_

_love and affection / She was crazy for you / Now she's part of something that you’ve lost”_

  

     A lot had happened in the few days after that fateful phone call.  The Holmes were reunited with their errant child/sister, Mycroft came clean with his part in hiding Eurus away, and Molly Hooper disappeared off the face of the Earth.  Well, not necessarily the face of the Earth, but it might as well have been.  He knew for a fact that everyone that had tried to contact her had come up with nothing.  He wanted to call her himself.  He wanted to be the one to tell her why he had done it, but he wasn’t sure how she would respond. 

 

     On the one hand, she might just let him brush it all under the rug.   _‘But_ _would I want to do that?’_ On the other hand, she might want to talk about _feelings_.  (He found himself in the odd position of not minding.)  What he did mind, was ruining this hard-built friendship between them.  It was a fine line that they walked, one that he feared crossing.

 

     He had always recognized that Molly was something important to him, even before John came into the picture, and even at his lowest point he knew that she would be there for him.  He had put her through hell time and again, always thinking to himself, _‘This is it.  This is the last straw.  She’s finally going to come to her senses and push me away,’_ and she always surprised him by pulling him closer.  She had the uncanny ability to know when he needed space, and when he needed someone’s presence, but silence at the same time.  She'd learned how to keep her nervous fidgeting to herself and her thoughts quiet. Well, not _all_ of her thoughts. At some point she'd developed a keen sense of when to tell him that he'd crossed the line.

 

     In short, he knew he needed her, but with her continued radio silence he feared that just as he had come to the realization that not only did he need her, had _fallen in love_ with her, she had finally come to her senses and decided that she was completely done with him.

 

     He rubbed his face with his hands and groaned, threw his legs over the side of the couch and sat up.  He looked around the room he was in.  He had never given much thought as to why he always felt like this was a second home to him.  (Then again, the apartment she lived in before she moved here had felt like a second home as well.)  Her walls were a cream color with robin’s egg blue trimming.  He had turned the fireplace on when he came in, and the flames danced merrily behind the grate.  Gauzy white curtains covered the large windows, and though he hated them for security reasons, he had to admit that they allowed for the bright, airy feel of the room.

 

     He had been shocked by how open and light the whole place was in comparison to her old flat.  It was bigger and roomier as well, and she had been so proud to find a house for a reasonable price in the center of London. 

 

     He felt a stab of residual shame for his behavior.  She had been so happy and had wanted to share that happiness with him.  But he had been his usual self, and was quick to tell her that the only reason she got such a low price was due to the previous owner being convicted of murder..

 

     She had given him a sad look of resignation and said, “I know that, Sherlock.  Why can’t you just be happy for me for once.” 

 

     “Because, I’m a bastard,” he whispered to the empty room.

 

     He had decided on his trip back from the old burnt down manor, that he would give Molly some space.  He felt that he didn’t deserve to go to her home that night, even though her voice whispered through his mind palace, _“Anytime you need me or my home, Sherlock.  Anytime,”_ and the memory of her handing him the key echoed with it.  So he continued on to John’s flat, helped with Rosie, dealt with the fallout of his family, and hoped to see or hear from Molly soon. 

 

     She never called though, and she wasn’t answering any texts.  It got to the point that even Mycroft was a bit worried.  Sherlock even went to Mike to ask whether Molly had been in to work, only to be told that she had taken some personal days to deal with a family emergency. 

 

_(Sherlock knew well that Molly didn’t have any family, so what exactly was she playing at?)_

     He had gone to her house to see what he could deduce, but the only thing he could find was exactly what would be expected.  Her cat wasn’t there, her house was immaculate, as always, her sheets and blankets were in the wash _(that one hurt a bit, as he remembered their night together)_ , and her suitcase, toiletries, and some clothes were missing.  Everything pointed to her being gone on holiday. 

 

     He hadn’t meant to stay there for the entire night, but when he had laid down on her couch and gone into his mind palace, surrounded by her things and her scent, he couldn’t help but be lulled into a sense of peace.  He also knew that as much as he wished she wouldn’t notice his invasion after that harrowing phone call, she would.  She was nothing if not attuned to him in ways that everyone else was not.

 

     Now if only he could be the same with her. 

 

     A sudden ringing broke the silence of the house, and he picked up the phone to see that his brother was calling.

 

     “What is it Mycroft?  I’m rather busy at the moment.”

 

     “Yes.  I’m sure you are.  And now I suppose you’re getting all of those cameras out of Ms. Hooper’s home.”

 

     Sherlock felt a sudden pang.  He hadn’t even thought about the cameras.  He started moving toward the kitchen in that instant.  “And what of it if I am?” he asked almost petulantly, moving the coffee pot out of the way, and opening a cabinet door.

 

     “It’s nothing. I’m just surprised that you haven’t been ordering me to get a team out there to sweep her flat, that’s all.”

 

     “I can handle this myself,” Sherlock answered petulantly.  “Besides, I figured you would have had that minion of yours send out a team already.”

 

     His brother went silent.  The breathing on the other end became more pronounced.  “Mycroft?”  His tone became gentler, “What is it?  What’s happened?”

 

     Mycroft’s voice was sharper this time.  An edge creeped into it, one that Sherlock had grown accustomed to over the years.  “It’s nothing.  It seems that Anthea has decided that she needs a few personal days.  That’s all.  She just failed to give the allotted notice before taking her leave.”

 

     Alarm bells started going off in the detective’s mind.  What were the odds that Molly went on a holiday and Anthea shortly thereafter?  He was certain that they were only brief acquaintances and had only spoken during his stunt with the fall. 

 

     But the universe was rarely so lazy and coincidences that made alarms go off were usually not coincidences at all. 

 

 

**~SH &MH~**

_“Don't you wanna go for a ride_ _/ Down to the other side?  
Feels so good you could cry / Now won't you do what I told you?”_

 

     After talking to Anthea and conveying as little as she could about the situation, but still gaining the other woman’s help, Molly rustled up some food for them.  There wasn’t much in the house, but since the kids were adamant about her staying with them, she did what she could with the little that she found. 

 

     They had a picnic of sorts in the sitting room so that Aensleigh wouldn’t have to jostle her leg around too much.  She laid on the couch, and Molly decided that she would sit on the floor with her back against it.  Andrew sat across from them, playing with some cards that he had found. 

 

     An awkward silence fell over the room and was only broken when Molly cleared her throat.  Turning to her niece, she said, “Tell me who’s after you guys and why.” 

 

     Fear twisted the young girl’s face as she looked to her lap.  Her hands were fidgeting and pulling at strings on the blanket that lightly covered her legs.  She shook her head, but kept her eyes lowered.  “I don’t know who they are, or what they want.  I just know that they killed Dad and they promised to come after me and Drew.”

 

     Dealing with Sherlock Holmes for more than twelve years had given Molly an uncanny ability to see through bullshit in a split second.  It was no different with her niece. A look of incredulity crossed her face as she stared the girl down.  “Seriously?  That’s what you’re going with?”

 

     Aensleigh gulped and continued fidgeting, not even bothering to answer. 

 

     “I’m not stupid Aensleigh.  You know something, and I can’t help you unless you tell me what’s going on.  Besides, why else did you call me here?”

 

     Aensleigh exploded then.  “I didn’t know who else to turn to!  I don’t know what my dad was getting up to, but I know it wasn’t any good.  That guy.  The one that was in the apartment with us?  He killed my dad right in front of me!  He was gonna kill me next!”

 

     Tears were streaming down the teenager’s face, and Andrew had started bawling as well.  He stood and cautiously walked over to them, cuddling a mangy bear the whole time.  He held it out to his sister and she burst into sobs saying, “I’m sorry.  I’m so sorry,” the whole time.

 

     Molly had dealt with emotional situations in the past, she was a pathologist after all, but this was something much different.  She had always had the professional barrier between herself and the families that she would have to tell whatever her findings were, but it had been years since she had had to deal with her own family situations. 

 

     She took a page out of how she dealt with Rosie when she was upset, and she gathered her niece and nephew to her and just held them.  “It’s going to be fine.  You’ll see.  I’ll get you out of here and figure this out.”

 

     Aensleigh looked up at her with hopeful eyes.  “Promise?”

 

     Headlights flashed in the window breaking off whatever Molly was going to answer with.  She felt the same trepidation go down her spine that she felt when Sherlock said he was going to die.  “That’s not right.  It’s too early for her to get here.  She said it would be at least nine hours, and that was seven and half hours ago,” she whispered.

 

   “Aunt Molly?”  Aensleigh asked, sitting up more fully.  Andrew was moving toward the window to see who was visiting, when there was a knock on the door.  He stopped and looked over his shoulder. 

 

     “Get back here. Now!” Molly hissed at him.  “Neither of you move.  Let me handle this.”  Molly pushed Andrew back to his sister, and watched as he cuddled to her.  She went out to the foyer and made her way quietly to the door.  As she reached her hand out, the doorknob started jiggling and a gruff voice started grumbling. 

 

     “I know you little brats are in there, and I will have my money.  I don’t care what he thought he was going to accomplish, but he’s gone now, and all I need is you two out of the way, and it will be all mine.”

 

     She sucked in a breath and let it out slowly.  She needed to get them out and now.  She turned around quickly and grabbed the chair that still sat in the hall.  She pushed it under the doorknob, hoping that it would buy them some time.  Then she grabbed what looked as if they were walking sticks at one point, and rushed back in to the sitting room.

 

     “Is there a backdoor?” she asked them frantically.  They didn’t answer her at first; they were staring at the window behind her.  She turned around slowly, and came face to face with a blinding light in her eye.  “Oh. Bloody hell.”

 

     Andrew whimpered, and Molly drew her spine up.  She may not have known them for long, but she was determined to keep them safe.  She quickly turned back around and pulled Andrew away from his sister.  “You’re going to have to walk, okay?” she asked as calmly as she could.

 

     He nodded his head and she said, “Good.  That’s good.”  Then she handed a walking stick to Aensleigh, grabbed her arm, and pulled her up from the couch. 

 

     “Back door, Aensleigh.  Where is it?”  The younger girl drew in a sharp breath, but managed to tell her aunt where the door was.  They went as fast as they could into the hallway and through it to the kitchen.  There was a small mud-room that Molly had noticed when she was cooking dinner, but hadn’t given it much thought. 

 

     Her phone rang just as she was leaning Aensleigh against the wall.  Grabbing it from her pocket, she saw it was Anthea.  “I’m kind of busy here!” She answered harshly.

 

     “So, I see,” came Anthea’s calm reply.  “Where exactly are you in the house?”

 

     “Back door.  Mud-room.”

 

     “Okay.  Stay there.  We’ll have you out in no time.”

 

     “WE?”  But the only answer she received was the click of the line.

 

 

**~SH &MH~**

_“Cause I didn't mean to be mean_ _/ When I said all the things I said to you  
But maybe the worst is the best I can do / With you”_

     “What do you mean they are taking in new charges?  Don’t they have enough going on without taking in someone else’s children?”  Sherlock paced back and forth in front of Mycroft’s desk, running his hands agitatedly through his hair. 

 

     Mycroft sat behind his desk, leaning back in his seat with his foot propped up (not a position that he would normally be found in).  He watched his brother with an air of disinterest, though he was no happier about the situation than Sherlock.   However, Mycroft understood that it was out of his hands.  The request came from higher up, and no matter what his brother might think, Mycroft did answer to someone else.  Besides, their parents had been quick to say yes. 

 

     “You will just have to deal with it, Sherlock.  They are grown adults.  They can make their own decisions.”

 

     Sherlock groaned into his hands.  “How did this happen?  I thought they were retired from all this.”

 

     Mycroft gave him a disgruntled look.  “One is never truly retired from this work.  You know that.  Besides, it’s not as if taking on children is actual field work.  They’ll be fine.” 

 

     “Where are their parents, what happened to them?”

 

     Mycroft sat up in his seat, foot dropping to the floor.  “What is this really about, Sherlock.  You don’t care one way or another if our parents take in a pair of children off the street.  So do tell me what’s going on.”

 

     Sherlock slumped down into the chair across from his brother.  “I just…  I don’t know,” he said on a sigh.  “I’m worried they’re taking too much on.  What with Eurus – and all.”

 

     Mycroft’s eyebrows raised in disbelief.  There was more, he knew there was, but he also knew that he was lucky to get this much out of his youngest sibling.  He gave a non-committal reply and waited, staring at Sherlock.

 

     After a few minutes of silence, Sherlock broke.  “Fine.  It’s not just about Eurus.  Molly Hooper has disappeared and nobody seems to know where she is.”  There was pain and fear in his eyes when he looked to Mycroft, making the older man wince.  The last time he had seen Sherlock this distraught was when he first lost Victor Trevor, just before he started repressing his memories.

 

     “Yes, I figured it was something like that.”  Sherlock’s face contorted into one of hope, but Mycroft held up a hand.  “I have no more information than you do.  Ever since Sherrinford and Eurus, it seems that everything has gone upside down.  I don’t even know where my PA is right now.”

 

     The detective couldn’t hold in his frustration and started pacing the length of the office again.  “It makes no sense, Mycroft.  None.  First Molly goes missing, then Anthea, and now our parents want to take in two random children.  And you don’t think anything is strange about this?”

 

     “I think you are trying to make too much out of this.  These things are not interconnected.  Stamford said that your pathologist went on a holiday.  She just needed a break, Sherlock.  I’m sure she’s fine.  As for Anthea – well, I’m certain it was something of a similar nature, and our parents are feeling their age.  They have wanted grandchildren for a while now.  It’s clear that none of their children are going to give them that, so let them help where they can.”

 

     Sherlock groaned, but acquiesced nonetheless.  “Fine.  Fine.  What are their names?  I may need the information in case I ever make it out there for one of Mummy’s Sunday dinners.”

 

     Mycroft looked at him incredulously for a moment, but seeing that his brother was perfectly serious, he answered, “They go by Leigh and Drew Elmesworth.  Do try to be kind, if you ever run across them.  Mummy has said that they have had a bad time of it lately.  Apparently the girl has broken her leg somehow.”

 

     “Yes, yes. Fine.  I’ll be the picture of kindness,” he grabbed his Belstaff and moved toward the door.  He paused in front of it, hand hovering just over the knob.  “You will tell me, won’t you, if you hear of anything concerning Molly?”

 

     Mycroft leaned back in his chair, folded his hands over his stomach, and studied the other man.  He realized that Sherlock was genuinely scared that Eurus had somehow done something to the small pathologist anyway, and simply covering his anxiety by showing a surprising worry for the larger picture.

 

     Sherlock looked over his shoulder at his brother, waiting for some sort of confirmation.  It was his eyes that had the older man murmuring almost gently, “You’ll be the first to know if I hear anything.”  The detective nodded once, turned the doorknob, and was gone.

 

     Mycroft let out a breath he was unaware he was holding and said to the quiet room, “Wherever you are, Molly Hooper, you need to get home safely.  And soon.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More questions than answers, I know. I'd say I'm sorry, but I do love building suspense. :)  
> Tell me your thoughts in a review. I love to hear them.
> 
> Reviews and Kudos are love!
> 
> ~Jeni


	4. Back in Time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: If you recognize it, it’s not mine. 
> 
> A/N: This chapter is a little different from the rest, but I hope you all will bear with me and enjoy it just the same! As always, a huge THANK YOU to lilsherlockian1975 for all of her help, ideas, and beta work going into this!

** This is How a Heart Breaks **

 

** Chapter 4 **

** Back in Time **

_“Some say that time changes / Best friends can become strangers_

_But I don't want that_ _/ No not for you  
If you just stay with me /We can make it through”_

~ Good Charlotte (Say Anything)

 

_It was a little-known fact that Anthea Lillis, Mycroft Holmes’ most trusted PA, never gave anyone anything but her real name.  She just always made sure to hesitate before telling them, making it possible for the idea of her giving a fake name to take place.  This little game worked on everyone she was introduced to; everyone, that is, except Molly Hooper._

_It was also a little-known (read: obsolete) fact that Molly Hooper and Anthea Lillis were best friends when they were children.  They met at a birthday party for an older child when they were four, and they were inseparable until they turned fourteen.  They did all the things that most little girls do, held tea parties, convinced their dads to build a tree-house for them, had sleepovers, and told each other their deepest dreams and desires._

_Things started changing between them when they were 12, and if you were to ask Molly, she would tell you that she should have seen the break coming.  Anthea’s grandmother moved in with her family, and while that alone wouldn’t necessarily be a problem, she was strongly opinionated.  And most of her opinions had to do with how Molly was the wrong type of girl to be around._

“She’s rather morbid, don’t you think, Dear?” _Gran would ask Anthea on more than one occasion.  Anthea would do her best to defend her friend, but it never swayed her Gran.  The older woman would always find different ways to try and dissuade her granddaughter from being around Molly.  She would mention things about the Hooper family being a lower class than the Lillis family, though where she got that idea, Anthea would never know.  It might be due to Adam Hooper choosing to not send his children away to boarding school.  Anthea found that she was envious of Molly in that respect._

_It was because of their separation to different schools, making new friends, and finding themselves in different social circles, that the break finally came._

 

     _The day after Molly’s brother left his childhood home for good, Anthea came home for the weekend.  She was excited about a party that she was invited to, and she hoped that Molly would go with her.  She found Molly in their old tree-house asleep and kicked the bottom of her foot to wake her up._

_At the sight of her best friend, Molly burst into tears, spilling the entire story out.  Anthea hugged her and shushed her and told her that everything was going to be fine (even if she knew it wasn’t)._

_When Molly finally calmed down, she declared that she was going to go looking for her brother and she would bring him home.  Anthea told her that she was being silly and naïve, and it would be a waste of time._ “Besides, wouldn’t you rather go to a party with me?” 

 

     “Thank you for the invitation, Thea.  But, I really think I can find him!” 

 

     _Anthea looked dubiously at Molly and made a decision that she had been mulling over for a while._ “If you do this, I won’t be going with you,” _she said seriously.  Molly had never heard her use that voice before._ “And, you probably shouldn’t call me anymore.”

 

     “Thea – What…?”

 

     _Anthea moved over to a corner of the fort where a wooden log with a hole in the middle of it sat.  She knelt in front of it, pulling out a small treasure box out and sat it on the floor in front of her, then she pulled her plaited friendship bracelets from her wrist and set them, almost reverently in the box._

_Anthea felt Molly’s eyes on her the whole time and she cursed her friend’s stoic facade.  She almost wished that Molly was the type of person that threw fits and temper tantrums, but she wasn’t.  She never had been, and Anthea knew that if she asked Molly to never speak to her again, then that is what would happen; even if it broke Molly’s heart to do so._

_Anthea turned and faced Molly one last time, then left her childhood friend behind._

_She didn’t see Molly again until they were 21.  Anthea got herself seriously injured in an accident and Molly was the intern on duty when they brought her in._

_It hurt that Molly refused to acknowledge Anthea in any other way than professionally, but she consoled herself that this is what she had asked for.  Shortly after her stint in the hospital she was recruited by Mycroft Holmes._

_She didn’t give another thought to her childhood friend, after all, their paths wouldn’t cross again.  She was sure of it._

_And then Sherlock Holmes had to die, and she found herself facing Molly once more._

_Molly was, as ever, a true professional.  She remained immune to their old friendship and only answered when Mycroft said something.  She did her part, and ignored Anthea unless otherwise spoken to by her._

_After Sherlock left for his mission, Anthea was sent to Molly’s flat to make any last-minute arrangements and offer any assistance to her, but Molly declined as Anthea knew she would._

_“You know I owe you for saving my life in the emergency that night, right?”  she asked just before she left Molly’s._

_Molly shook her head.  “You owe me nothing, Thea.”  Anthea sighed in resignation and left._

******                                                                 ****                                                                   ******

     _Her original plan had been simple; get clearance from someone higher than Mycroft so he wouldn’t realize what was going on, get a helicopter and extraction team, go to Texas, land the helicopter as close as they could to the house, get Molly and the kids and go._

_As plans went, it was a pretty good one with few loopholes.  She was almost sure that nothing could put a wrench in it either, and neither of the Holmes brothers would have to know.  Everything was perfect, until she walked into Mr. Andrews office and found herself not only greeting him, but Mr. and Mrs. Holmes as well._

‘Great’

_Them being there turned out to be a blessing in disguise.  After she explained why she would need the things that she did, cursing Molly for only giving sparse details, they helped her iron out the smaller details and offered their home as a safe-house.  They even decided on what would be told to the boys to keep them in the dark.  (Anthea silently thanked them for not inquiring why keeping it from them was so important.)  They only had one caveat, and Anthea braced herself in anticipation._

_They were going on the mission with her._

**~SH &MH~**

****

**_Previously:_ **

_“Back door, Aensleigh.  Where is it?”  The younger girl drew in a sharp breath, but managed to tell her aunt where the door was.  They went as fast as they could into the hallway and through it to the kitchen.  There was a small mud-room that Molly had noticed when she was cooking dinner, but hadn’t given it much thought._

_Her phone rang just as she was leaning Aensleigh against the wall.  Grabbing it from her pocket, she saw it was Anthea.  “I’m kind of busy here!” she answered harshly._

_“So, I see,” came Anthea’s calm reply.  “Where exactly are you in the house?”_

_“Back door.  Mud-room.”_

_“Okay.  Stay there.  We’ll have you out in no time.”_

_“WE?”  But the only answer she received was the click of the line._

******                                                                 ****                                                                   ******

_“I feel their eyes all over me_ _/ It's lookin' like conspiracy  
I'm out of friends that I can trust / Maybe they're on to us”_

~NeedtoBreathe (Maybe They’re on to Us)

     Molly wasn’t one to sit around and wait to be rescued.  She had spent too much time with Sherlock and company for such nonsense as that.  She knew in her heart that doing what Anthea said would be, in theory, for the best.  However, she wasn’t sure where exactly Anthea and her team were and there was a (possibly murderous) person in the house with them right now.

 

     “We’re not really going to wait here, are we?”  Aensleigh asked, as if she were pulling Molly’s thoughts from the air.  Andrew stood next to her, holding her hand and staring up at Molly with innocent eyes.

 

     Molly closed her eyes for a moment to regather her wits and shook her head slightly.  “The car.”

 

     “What?”

 

     “The car you said you drove home.  I didn’t see it when I drove up.  Where is it?”

 

     Her niece’s eyes lit up in understanding.  “It’s actually right out back.  Right at the bottom of the stairs.”

 

     “She almost parked it under the house, that’s how close it is,” Andrew added with a little giggle.

 

     Molly beamed.  At least something was going right. 

 

     “We can’t drive it though.  I think the engine died right as we got home.”

 

     Her heart sank at those words, but she refused to be brought down.  Really, all they needed to do was hide in the car for a little bit.  As long as they weren’t found by anyone but Anthea, everything would be fine.  She pushed Andrew in front of her towards the back door and pulled her niece to her, allowing the younger girl to use her as a crutch.

 

     A thump from behind them had her freezing in place.  Aensleigh was quietly whispering, “Oh, god. Oh, god. Oh, god.”

 

     “This is no time to panic, Aensleigh.  We’ll be fine.”

 

    “We’re all gonna die,” Andrew hissed at them.

 

     “Not helping,” Molly hissed back.

 

     A male voice in the kitchen sang out in a high-pitched way, “I’m looking for you.  I’m going to find you.”

 

     The pathologist froze.  She knew logically that the male looking for them could not be Jim Moriaty.  Sherlock had assured her that Moriarty was dead, and for everything that she knew Sherlock to be and do, she knew that he would never lie to her about that.  But more than even Sherlock’s assurances, she had been the one to do Moriarty’s autopsy.  The knowledge of all of this did not stop the memories of that sing-song voice going through her head as she was transported back to the night she broke up with him, and he told her that one day she would regret choosing Sherlock over him.

 

     “Aunt Molly?”  Aensleigh whispered, shaking Molly a little to bring her back.

 

     “Right, yeah.  We’re going.” 

 

     Suddenly a light was shining in their faces.  A man in his late 20’s stood in front of them, a nasty grin spread across his face and a gun pointing at them.

 

     “Come to help the little brats out, eh?” he asked.  “Don’t you worry.  Let me take them with me, and you can just go back to wherever it is you came from.”

 

     “I should think not,” Molly answered as she drew herself up into her full height.  Intimidating as it wasn’t, it always helped to show yourself as your most secure.  (It was a little hard to do with Aensleigh hanging off her shoulder, but she did the best she could.)

 

     “Ooh.  A Brit.  Lovely.  Maybe we’ll just take you as well.  I always liked them accents.”  He leaned in close to Molly, and whispered in her ear, “We’ll have lots of fun, you and me.”

 

     Molly shivered, Aensleigh whimpered, and Andrew clung to Molly’s leg.

 

     “I don’t think we’ll be having any fun at all,” Molly said with obvious false bravado.  She pushed her leg back, getting Andrew to let go and move back toward the door, and she slowly edged herself and Aensleigh away. 

 

     She kept her eyes on the would-be kidnapper the whole time, and when she felt the knob behind her, she twisted it.  She briefly wondered why he hadn’t attacked, but couldn’t ponder on it too long, because just then the entirety of the back yard was flooded with light, and a helicopter was appearing out of the clouds.

 

     Men were jumping out of trucks that had, unbeknownst to them, surrounded the house.  Another man, dressed like the kidnapper, was handcuffed and being pushed to the back of a truck by operatives.    

 

     “You are surrounded.  Step back from the family,” a voice over a mega-phone announced.

 

     The man lunged for Aensleigh, pulling her from her aunt’s grip, and wrapping his arm around her waist, he aimed the gun straight at her head.  Molly cried out at the loss of her niece. 

 

     “NO!” Andrew cried, running forward.  Molly snatched him up and pushed him behind her before he could get too close.

     

     “None of this is necessary!” the man called out.  “Just let me have the kids, and we can all go about our business!”

 

     Someone came up behind Molly and coaxed Andrew away.  She heard their whispered conversation, an elderly man’s voice that she knew she had never heard before, but somehow trusted just the same, promising the young boy that everything would be okay, his sister would be fine, and they were all going to get to safety.  Then he whispered to Molly that Anthea was just behind them. 

 

     Molly nodded and turned her full attention back to Aensleigh.  The younger girl was struggling to stay standing while the gunman yelled at Anthea’s troops.  Sweat rolled down her face and her unbroken leg was barely holding her up.  The splint that Molly had managed to piece together was breaking down quickly and not very supportive.  Her eyes were fever-bright, but determined when she caught Molly’s gaze.  Molly knew, in that moment that her niece was about to do something incredibly stupid.

 

     Aensleigh pulled herself up on her broken leg, wincing as she did so, kicked back with her good foot and struck her captor in the shin.  Hard.  He was caught off guard just enough that his grip loosened and she dropped to the ground just as he shot off his gun, the bullet ripping through Molly’s shoulder.  Another gunshot went off hitting the gunman in the hand making him drop his gun and land on his knees.

 

     As the operatives swarmed around the downed gunman, Molly ignored the shouts from Anthea and the pain in her shoulder, and raced for her semi-conscious niece.  She was frantic as she knelt beside her.

 

     “Are you okay?  Of course you’re not okay.  Why would you be okay?  Your splint is coming off, you have no energy.  I’m sure you’re in a lot of pain. You were so brave!”

 

     “Dr. Hooper!”

 

     “Miss Hooper.”

 

     Aensleigh’s eyes were fluttered open. “I’m just a little tired.  That’s all.  But you…”  Her voice got quieter as she spoke.  Molly could tell that she was getting weaker.

 

     “MOLLY!”  She turned around to see her former friend staring at her in shock and horror.  There was an elderly couple standing nearby holding Andrew between them.  His cheeks were red and tears streamed down his face.  Molly watched his lips form, “Please don’t die,” over and over again.

 

     “Anthea.”  The world started to tunnel, and she was suddenly cold and shaking.  “Shock,” she said matter-of-factly.  Her eyes rolled to the back of her head and she promptly passed out.

 

     “Oh dear,” Mrs. Holmes stated. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I love hearing your thoughts, so please leave a review!
> 
> ~Jeni

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos and Reviews are love!


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